


My Dad Can Totally Comfort Your Dad in his Time of Need

by Dragoneisha



Series: my dad is cooler than your dad [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: American Sign Language, Asshole Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Bro Strider Copes By Ruining Everything Around Him, Disassociation, M/M, Muteness, Nicknames, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Rehabilitation, Selectively Mute Character, Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 15:58:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16162157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragoneisha/pseuds/Dragoneisha
Summary: Bro Strider, still licking his wounds after being licked, goes to a party.And freaks out.





	My Dad Can Totally Comfort Your Dad in his Time of Need

**Author's Note:**

> thats right, this universe again! i recommend reading these in order of course but it isnt entirely necessary. bro is being rehabbed and hes not very happy about it. slightly less strifing in this one. canon compliant. ok GO

Bro Strider swears on his life that he's gonna tap that ass.

It shouldn't be so _hard_. It was never that difficult before, in a world long dead, to get what he wanted - mostly because he was a shitty dude with few scruples and no standards, and most of what he wanted he could make himself.  
But he’s still an unscrupulous bastard, so what gives?

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that perhaps a casual fling isn't what's going to get the attention of a self-proclaimed family man. Maybe he's not a giant manwhore like Bro is. Oh, and possibly his intimate knowledge of every fuckup Dirceus Ambrose Strider, PhD, has ever made, may put him off of getting it on. Oh, also Bro is still a jackass. 

Hm.

Bro muses, swirling flat orange soda in his shitty red Solo cup, that this will probably be an uphill battle.

After knocking back his drink like it's a shot (no alcohol allowed in the goddamn house; why not? Fucking dumb as hell) Bro gets up to wander through the place. No kids in here, thank whatever gods there are - which might be the kids themselves, actually? Everything is so weird. He's glad they won, even if he'd rather not be around to experience it, especially not _in rehab_.

Whatever, this party mega sucks. All the classic adults are here - Buff Dad, Bro's old lady friend Lalonde, Insane Sexy Grandpa showed up for like two minutes, Sexy Troll Carmilla 2; Electric Boogaloo, not Bro's old lady friend Lalonde but still Lalonde something, Weird Bara Troll Who Never Wears a Shirt and Talks for Fucking Ever, and... whoever the skinny douche in shades is. Doesn't he know he looks dumb as hell? Some people, honestly.

They're chattering and chuckling, gathered in a loose circle like sheep in a pen. Insane Sexy Grandpa is telling some story Bro’s not listening to, but his voice pitches just loud enough to be annoying and unignorable. Sexy Troll Carmilla, who is built like a tank and sometimes glows, serves basically as a disco ball or some shit as she towers over the rest of the group. Reminds him of a sheepdog. Keeping watch over the flock.

The idiot flock. Hah.

Sheepdogs don't have dope shawls like that, though. He's tempted to ask about the weave, but it's probably made of silver chitin dust spun into thread or something crazy like that, and he doesn't want to talk to a weird vampire anyway, no matter how undeniably bangin' she is. 

Bro wrinkles his nose just a little and flickers through the group so he can get more to drink. He's pretty sure Shades follows him with his eyes, but that isn't his problem. There isn’t even any good music. Why is this happening? He knows it's not related to his therapy/rehab hybrid, because he was almost banned from it for trying to fight Buff Dad.

Speaking of, Buff Dad glances visibly over to him, and Bro can feel the change in his stance. That's right, asshole. Be ready for a fight. Who knows when the rabid animal is going to attack again. Maybe he'll give everyone else rabies too.

Bro knows it's not going to help his goal of boning down Buff Dad, but he can't help but sneer a little at the way his brows furrow. What's that, is he mad? Is he worried? He should be.

No earthly idea what the fuck Buff Dad's thinking, letting Bro stay with him. What a crazy bastard.

He's so busy wallowing, he misses the way Bara Shirtless troll glances over. The way his face changes: brows quirking up, ears ticking down. The way he lifts a stiff hand, excuses himself from the talk-circle, circles carefully around like he's giving a wide berth to a wolf caught in a bear trap.

The way he stops beside Bro. Right up until he clears his throat, of course.

"Are you alright?"

Bro nearly breaks his glass over the trolls' head. It wouldn't have done much, because it's not actually glass, this is a plastic cup. (He's definitely not trusted with anything else.) As it is, he still jumps like a fucking idiot. Ugh. What is he, a wilting lily? 

The troll is annoyingly patient as Bro slowly turns his eyes onto him. He doesn't like this. Why does this feel like an intervention? Bro shifts his weight, subtle, soundless, to the balls of his feet.

The troll doesn't just... let him get away with it, though. Everyone else has, but he just - starts talking.

"Me neither," hums Bara Shirtless Troll. "I haven't heard much of your situation, but I don't think I need to, do I?"

Bro's expressionless gaze fails to unnerve him. Bro doesn't like that. Generally, not even trolls like it when he starts going all dead-faced. They're apparently comforted by sneers and dismissal, so he’s stopped trying that; they react more to no reaction than open threats. But this one doesn't.

Bro hates outliers. 

"Isolating yourself isn't going to help your case, you know."

More and more, Bro wishes for his sword.

"Do you know my name?"

That startles him, to a point. Bro's brow arches just enough for the troll to see it over his shades. For some reason, this makes the fucker smile - showing off teeth just barely too sharp to be normal. Too fucking big for his mouth, though. Bro would be unnerved if he wasn't Bro motherfucking Strider, fearer of nothing, especially not shittyboys, even if they are big and broad and a little bit sexy. Maybe a lot sexy. Maybe super sexy.

Bara Shirtless Troll watches Bro, and Bro doesn't move - just watches him in return. For a long time, they stare at each other. And then Bara Troll smiles again.

"Do you know any of our names? I hear you murmuring sometimes." He flicks his ears up like they’re a moth’s wings ready for takeoff. Bro can't help but glance to them, the motion of his eyes hidden behind tinted glass. "I don't think you do, do you? Not that that's a crime, I don't expect to be remembered right off the bat."

Bro stays quiet. He doesn't owe this dude shit. Nobody _deserves_ to have his voice in their ears, and he definitely doesn't have to answer a prying, irritating troll, even if he is built like a brick shithouse. If his horns were bigger Ambrose could say something about being a stud. Y'know, like bulls? It's a cow joke. Cows. 

Man, he needs better material.

"It's Kankri," says Bara Shirtle- Kankri. Kanky? What? "My name is Kankri. I don't have a hatchname, but I took that one of my own volition. You didn't know that," he says, with a surety that rankles Bro. He doesn't like how sure of himself this smooth-talking little shit is. Actually, he hates it.

"You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

Bro doesn't know what to say to that. Nothing, he guesses. Just like everything else he's been saying, which is also nothing.

"I'm not stupid." Bro watches the troll glance to his hand. He doesn't remember crushing his plastic cup in his hand, but that punch is going to stain his gloves. As for Bro, he doesn't look away from Bara Shirtless Troll's face. He can't dare to.

Trolls look where they're going to attack before they do it. Same as humans. Any animal does, really. Part of the reason he obscures his eyes - well, part of one of many reasons. Bro has varied motivations, he is a fully realized human being just like anybody else, damnit. Even if he has the soul of a rabid dog that deserves to be put down.

 

Bro sneers a little, unable to stop himself from doing it. He doesn't like this at all. He doesn't know what Bara Shirtless Troll is talking about. He doesn't trust those red eyes -

"You're ignoring us all on purpose." Bro's punch-stained fingers twitch for a sword that isn't there.

"You don't like it when I say that, do you?" 

Maybe the knife would work. Yeah, like a plastic knife is gonna breach troll skin, hah. Punch ladle? It's not in his specibus but he can try.

"It's not exactly hard to put your story together." 

Or the bowl itself. Doesn't take a specibus to throw a glass bowl, even if his strifedeck might pitch a fit over it. It can take the fucking ignorance for a few more minutes, he doesn't have any _fucking_ swords.

Black fingers snap an inch from his face, and Bro has to actively stop himself from flashstepping backwards into the nth dimension. "Pay attention to me, asshole," Cainki demands. Bro's own sneer is mirrored on those plush lips. "I know you can. You've got your eyes on this whole room, don't pretend for a second you think you can get that shit past me. You're still here, so you're willing to listen. Start listening."

Bro can see Sexy Troll Carmilla cast a glance over to them. The .315-millimeter twitch of her claws (by his calculations) is cause for worry, but he's got distance on her. He doesn't have distance on Caineky.

"You know you have to try, right?" Bara Shirtless Kaineki doesn't wait for an answer, bulldozing right on. Bastard. What if Bro had something to say? "I think you know that perfectly well."

Kaneki drops his hand and stares through Bro's shades, pinning him in place with his gaze.

Bro wants to flee.

"You have to try for this to work. Like Jane and James and Rose are doing." Who are those people? Who cares? "You have to care, and you don't want to."

Belatedly, Bro swipes at the hand that Bara Shirtless Troll had extended towards his shoulder. His palm makes contact just as the tips of the troll's blunt claws graze his polo. The whole of Kaneki's body jerks as his arm is batted aside, and the claws catch momentarily on Bro's throat.

Just enough to be a sting. Just a graze, he doesn't feel blood so it doesn't matter. Bro stares, resolute, as his opponent tries and fails to compose himself.

"People want to help you, and - you're scared of that, aren't you?"

The sentence is gritted out through tense jaws, barely whispered between rounded fangs. 

It hits Bro like a spear to the chest.

"Shut up," he rasps, his voice like that of a long-dead animal, raspy from disuse. He can feel a tug in his voicebox, not quite pain, but definitely not relief.

"People want to help you," Kankri growls, "and you think it'll just stop if you shove them away. Here’s your problem - that's not how compassion works. _That's why you're here._ You're getting more second chances than any one human deserves, and you're scared of it, but breaking shit isn't how to deal with it, and _you know it._ "

"Stop," says Bro, and it sounds weak even to him. What a fucking baby. Can't even stand up for himself.

When did the sheep conversation stop? How long has Shades been looking over here? 

What can he do, what can he do _what can he -_

"My name is Kankri," says Kankri, and Bro knew that already. "I don't care if you shove my name out of your head a thousand times. I'll introduce myself to you again every single time, and I can keep it up for as long as you need. You can't detrollize me because you think it'll make us stop trying to help you."

Bro watches the slight narrowing of Kankri's eyes, dreads the fact that he won't be able to ignore him anymore, and can tell an attack is coming. But from where? No muscles tensing, no obvious threat, he wavers into flashstep to be ready to dodge -

"No one is going to stop."

Verbal. Flashstep isn't going to stop words from hitting his ears. Bro swings for his smug fucking face.

A hand catches his arm, quicker than even he can react to, and his whole body jerks (he's not a man to do things by halves, you should never punch without putting your body into it) as his momentum is arrested.

He isn't flipped or turned. Kankri is still in the middle of reacting, thick brows quirking up in either disappointment or surprise, and these fingers are paler than black. Lighter than his own wrist by a hair.

Shades' mouth is set into a thin line, barely moving when he speaks. 

"Gonna need you to stop that, homie."

Bro's sneer is obvious, even if Shades here wasn't staring him straight in the face and practically daring him to go further. He doesn't speak, but he puts his weight on his back foot, yanks as well as he can to try and dislodge the grip on his forearm. He might as well be wearing a hand-bracer with how stubborn this guy is, and how much damn grip strength he's got in those pretty twink fingers.

"Is he mute _and_ deaf?" Shades asks, about him instead of to him, and Bro can feel a spike of _something_ in his chest in response. It isn't quite anger, which makes it unfamiliar. No Striders have anything but rage up in there, man. That's just facts. What would make him say something like that anyway? "Or are we just dealing with the strong, sexy, silent type?"

"I think he's having a panic attack, actually," observes the clipped voice of the woman Shades is attached to at the hip, Not Bro’s Lalonde, which makes it so much worse. Bro is too busy playing a game of flashstep-footsie with Shades, who has now been upgraded to Shitty Shades. Because he's so utterly and completely shitty. Shitty shit shit shit.

The both of them flicker, and Shitty Shades might say something, but it's lost in the rush of suddenly becoming utterly detached from the timestreams and moving the speed of light. Bro is trying to stomp on his shitty, stupid toes and yank out of his grip at the same time. Shitty Shades has decided to try and stop him from doing both of those things.

A sharp enough yank almost gets him free, but he's too off-balance to take advantage of the moment. Bro would swear if he could talk right now, but his throat is closed as tight as a virgin asshole; happens a lot when there's so many people around. Especially now that one of them has his hands on him. He's less flashstepping and more openly struggling now, and the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears drowns out whatever else is going on.

Maybe he really is panicking.

A palm-strike swings by, just barely slow enough to duck, and Bro presses the offensive the only way he knows how - leaving the ground in a characteristic jump - but Shitty Shades leaps just as quick as him. His mind helpfully offers up a few useless facts. _Flashstep-qualified, if not masterful. Familiar._ It reminds him of Dave. He wishes it didn't.

He jumps, and he 

doesn’t

and

"I said that's _quite enough._ " Kankri's voice cuts through the haze, and Bro comes back to himself. He's on his ass, and the hand on his arm is gone. He feels no pain in his body save a slight headache and the niggling hello from the graze over his throat. When did he fall? How fast is he breathing?

Why doesn't he know the answers to any of these questions?

Warm, broad hands curl under Bro's armpits, and he doesn't even flashstep to get away. He's too stunned to do a damn thing,

Buff Dad moves him like a marionette, with utmost care but complete disregard of autonomy. He's set limply on a dining room chair, and the party somewhat resumes, only Bu- Kankri and Buff Dad lingering all that much. On some level, Bro hates them for it.

On another, it's so nice to be told what to do again that he doesn't protest at all.

Buff Dad takes up a seat near but not beside him, and starts packing his pipe to smoke. Of course the prisoner needs a guard. Who knows when he'll snap and make another escape attempt, everyone in his way be damned?

"You'll make sure he doesn't get worse?" Kankri asks, half-bent down, as if he's refuting Bro's internal monologue. If it weren't for the fact that he knows (from some source) that trolls can't read minds, he'd think that’s what was happening, with stray thoughts groomed away like the undercoat on a husky somebody put in Texas for some goddamn reason. "I do feel a bit responsible, even if realistically -"

"I promise I can handle one panicked man, Mr. Signless." Buff Dad's voice is like butter. Bro closes his eyes and just listens for a moment, even while the rest of his brain goes haywire. He can section that off, deal with it later.

A laugh, unfamiliar to Bro, rough and delighted. "You do know that's a title. You can just call me Kankri." _Kankri's_ laugh. He can still hear the smile in his voice.

"I'll try to remember that." Buff Dad pauses, and it gives Bro just enough time to notice how cold the wood is under him. He's not warm enough to heat it up yet. "Kankri."

Bro wants him to say his name like that.

Time passes. It has to, because Buff Dad is well into smoking when Bro opens his eyes again.

He's not sure how long he sat there ignoring everything but the inside of his eyelids, but it was long enough for Buff Dad to light his pipe and set to puffing. He didn't smoke much in his other life (Cal didn't like it) but he doesn't mind the smell of tobacco. Especially when it's such quality stuff.

It's darker outside now. Not by much, but enough to be a marked change from how it was before, when he wasn't all caught up in his head. Or maybe he just didn't notice the time passing before while he was still fighting and growling and being a general menace to everyone around him like he always is. Only Buff Dad is in immediate view - turning his head a little, he can see Shades and Not His Lalonde snuggled and unconscious on the couch, while Bro's Lalonde tries to tempt what appears to be a stray cat in the door with a piece of cheese. Normal not-drunk party stuff.

The pipe in Buff Dad's mouth glows when he inhales. It illuminates the planes of his face as Bro looks back at him. His eyes are down, a sure sign that Buff Dad is probably about as deep in his head as Bro is in his own. Bro watches him breathe out coils of grey, and some small tension melts from his shoulders as he does.

Bro's hands are moving before he can stop himself.

Bro snaps, twice, to get his attention, and his dark blue eyes just pin Bro right to his seat. He thinks his hands might be shaking. He hopes not, he's doing this to avoid a stutter (as if he could actually speak, right now, after the stress of the day his throat may as well be in a vice, there's no getting anything out around that ball of anxiety.) But he does get Buff Dad's attention, and, as cool as he can, he folds his hands into the right shapes. And, as polite as he's maybe ever been, Bro asks his name.

Buff Dad's brow crinkles with amusement, and he takes the stem of the pipe between two fingers, taking it from his lips. Bro stares, but that's okay because his eyes are hidden. It'd be embarrassing otherwise. Probably creepy, too. Watch out, normal suburban father figure, the creepy stalker won't stop staring at your mouth! But it's okay because you can utterly thrash him in a fight and he's insecure about it.

Yeah, whatever, buddy.

"You know," huffs Buff Dad, "I've half a mind not to answer you, with all the fuss you've caused today." Something Bro can't identify twinkles in his eyes. Some kind of mischief, maybe, but that's always there. Tomfoolery? A propensity for giggles? "Especially because we've been introduced a few times now."

Bro can just barely see a bruise peeking out from the collar of his shirt, fading already from purples and greens to a faint reddish-yellow. Mauve, perhaps. It’s likely his fault.

"My name is James."

 _James_.

Closing his eyes again, Bro sits back in his chair and commits it to memory.

**Author's Note:**

> bara shirtless troll is the signless, buff dad is still dad, sexy troll carmilla is the dolorosa, sexy grandpa is gpa harley, shades is alpha dave, bro's lalonde is mom lalonde, not bro's lalonde is alpha rose lalonde


End file.
